The Picard Maneuver
by oneship
Summary: Remember way back at the start of season one when Picard and Crusher weren't afraid of getting too close to one another? (I am blatantly ignoring the change to the game plan by TPTB, and am keeping in the spirit of Beverly's character serving as Chief Medical Officer AND Picard's love interest.) Here's how I think it could have played out... COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

Beverly Crusher sighed and set the PADD on her desk. She'd read the memo more than a dozen times, and still it made no sense. The message wasn't overly complicated—a typical request from Deanna to go over the recent crew evaluations—but the empath had scrawled three digits across the bottom, and Beverly couldn't figure out why.

She mentally shrugged and got up from behind her desk. She rolled her shoulders as she stepped from her office and into the main area of sickbay. She had duties to perform, and there was no sense wasting time trying to puzzle something out when the answer was less than a duty shift away.

-P/C-

Beverly hobbled into the turbolift and sagged against the wall as soon as the doors closed. A massive volcanic eruption on par with Earth's Krakatau had rocked the planet R'Shandli and caused wide-spread devastation. The _Enterprise_ was first on the scene, and while her team worked tirelessly, treating the sick and injured was like trying to bail out a sinking ship with a thimble.

The R'Shandli were grateful for the assistance and had started taking over many of the key elements of emergency response within twenty-four hours, but medical supplies—and trained medics—were still in short supply in many areas. Beverly was responsible for overseeing more than a dozen triage and temporary treatment centers across the planet, and that wouldn't change until the _Farragut_ arrived to help with the clean-up.

She pushed herself off the wall and wandered toward her quarters on auto-pilot. She rounded the corridor and stopped short when she almost crashed into two officers coming the other way.

"I'm sorry, I—"

"Doctor?" Captain Picard said. "I thought you were on the surface." His brow creased as he took in her disheveled appearance. Her boots were caked in mud, and ash coated the rest of her. The fine particulate had gotten everywhere. She suspected even the sonic shower would have difficulty getting rid of it all.

"You look like hell," Riker said, eyeing her, too.

"Thanks," she said to the First Officer. She turned to Picard and added, "I was, but I need a shower and a fresh uniform. I can't treat people when I'm filthier than they are."

Picard nodded then frowned. "How long have you been down there?"

Beverly inhaled and tried to think. "What time is it?"

"Sixteen hundred hours," Riker said.

She did the math. "Fifty-two hours. Give or take."

"Without a break?" Riker said, incredulous. "What about the rest of your team? Couldn't they—?"

Beverly straightened and several puffs of ash fell to the deck like snow. She ignored the dust and glared at Riker. "The injured don't arrive in neat shifts. We work whenever we're needed, not just when it's on the duty roster. However," she added, "my people are on standard shifts now that the R'Shandli emergency services have stepped up."

"Then why have you done fifty-two hours straight—"

"It'll be fifty-three, if you don't let me get to my quarters to change."

"You can't go back down," Riker said.

"I can, and I will."

Riker glanced at Picard.

Captain Picard cleared his throat and said, "Doctor, your dedication to those in need has always been one of your most admirable qualities, but—"

Beverly sighed. "I'm not putting lives in danger by overworking myself in an OR. My staff and the R'Shandli are handling the surgeries."

"Then what—" Picard asked.

Beverly let some of her frustration tinge her words as she said, "I'm trying to keep their facilities open. Widespread power outages, flooding, earthquakes, and tsunamis are making it nearly impossible to provide any services at all. As soon as we get one generator online, a boiling mud flow comes through and we have to evacuate. Or pyroclastic gas warnings go off, and we have to seal the buildings until—"

She rocked on her heels and ran a hand through her hair. More ash fell and she grimaced.

"That's enough," Picard said, not unkindly. "The _Enterprise_ is working with the planet's geologists to try to get the volcano under control, but it's proving to be a challenge."

"If you want a challenge, try moving a level three trauma ward during a 7.3 quake. It's like taking a biobed on a roller coaster – with no safety harness." She sighed. "I need to get back. The southern continent's coastal emergency ward is probably under water by now."

Picard shook his head and turned to Riker saying, "Have Mr. Data take over for Doctor Crusher. He—"

"No," Beverly replied. Picard raised an eyebrow. "Sir," she added. "He can't—"

"Lt. Cmdr. Data is perfectly capable of organizing the evacuation and set up of treatment centers," Picard interrupted. He turned to Riker. "See that it happens. Tell Data that Dr. Crusher will resume command of the relief efforts in eight hours."

"Aye, sir," Riker said and strode off.

"Captain, I—"

"You will obey orders, Doctor," Picard said. "You wouldn't let one of your staff push themselves this far, and I cannot allow you to do so either."

Beverly thought about protesting further, but decided she was too tired to open her mouth. She nodded and took a step toward her quarters.

At least, she thought she took a step.

Strong hands gripped her arms and she wondered what had caused the deck to tilt so wildly. She blinked owlishly at Picard and waited for him to order the ship to red alert.

"Allow me," he said as he released her arms. He was careful not to let go of her completely, but shifted so her right arm was nestled in the crook of his left. "I think it's time I programmed the computer to alert me whenever you spend more than twenty-four hours on duty."

"You wouldn't—"

"I should set it for twelve or eighteen hours," he said as they slowly walked the last few meters to her door, "but I suspect you think twenty-four is already prohibitively limiting."

"I am fully capable—"

"Of working yourself to death?" he asked. "Yes, Doctor, I believe you are."

The doors to Beverly's quarters opened when they entered sensor range. Picard led her inside then faltered. He couldn't seem to make up his mind where to deposit his charge. He pulled her in the direction of her bedroom then backtracked toward the center of the living room.

He turned them so they faced her desk—and she wondered if he honestly thought she might sleep or change uniforms there—before settling on guiding her to the sofa.

"This would be easier in my bedroom," she said, stifling a yawn.

"Ah," Picard stammered, "I don't think, Doctor… appropriate for a commanding officer and female subordinate…"

The exhaustion from spending more than two days running from one emergency to the next loosened the normally tight rein she kept on her mischievous tongue, and Beverly couldn't resist poking at Picard's captainly veneer.

"But, Captain, I've been in your bedroom many times," Beverly replied with an innocent tone that suggested everything other than innocence.

"As my physician!" He practically choked as she batted her lashes.

Beverly grinned. "But, I thought you were playing "doctor." Isn't that why you're here?"

The captain turned several shades of fuchsia and dropped her arm as if she were radioactive. He glanced wildly around the room and took a shaky step back.

"Relax, Captain," Beverly said, laughing. "I'm only teasing." She tried to adopt a serious expression. "Thank you for helping me back to my quarters. I can handle things from here."

He looked like he wanted to flee, but he took a deep breath and asked, "You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said. "I am more than capable of cleaning myself up and crawling into bed." Picard's eyes widened as she described her plans, and she added, "So, never fear, Captain, you can escape with your virtue intact."

Picard blushed furiously. "Doctor, I can assure you, I never meant to insinuate… You would never…_ I_ would ne—"

Beverly laughed and shook her head. "Teasing, again, _Jean-Luc_."

"Right," he said, tugging on his uniform top. "If you're sure you're fine…" His words trailed off as he stepped closer to the door.

"I'm fine!" she replied.

He triggered the door's sensor and took a quick step into the corridor.

"Captain!" Beverly called before he could disappear.

He leaned forward so his head was inside, but his feet remained firmly on the far side of the threshold. "Yes, Doctor?"

"Do me a favour," she said. "Fix the planet while I'm asleep so I don't have to pull another fifty-hour shift. Please?"

A small grin pulled at his lips. "I'll see what I can do."

The door closed with a soft whoosh and Beverly sighed as she bent over to remove her boots. She had forgotten how easily the indomitable Jean-Luc Picard was flustered by her.

Nearly a decade later, she still found the reaction cute, but she'd have to be more careful with her teasing. Beverly stepped into the sonic shower and closed her eyes and smiled. Scaring him out of her quarters wouldn't do if she wanted to succeed at getting him into her bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Beverly trailed after Deanna as they left the senior officers' briefing and headed toward the counselling offices. Not only had the captain managed to bring R'Shandli's erratic geology under control, but the _Farragut_ had somehow arrived more than eighteen hours ahead of schedule.

"They would have needed to travel at warp nine for more than six hours," Beverly muttered.

"Seven point two," Deanna replied with a smile. "Data told me."

"Why? Command didn't seem to be in a rush to get them here yesterday."

Deanna shrugged. "I'm sure the captain had his reasons."

Beverly almost tripped as the notion _she_ might have been his reason flitted through her head. She brushed the idea away instantly. There was no way Picard would go that far to ensure she didn't need to work another double, or triple, shift.

They entered Deanna's office and the empath gestured at the sofa. "Let's sit over here. It's more comfortable."

Beverly nodded and sat at one end while Deanna brought over a tray with a pitcher of cold water and a pair of glasses. She set them down on the table and took a seat at the other end of the couch.

"I have to admit," Beverly said, smiling, "the mysterious addendum to your memo has been puzzling me for days now. If it hadn't been for the planetary disaster, I would have cornered you and demanded to know what those numbers meant."

Deanna laughed. "I'm sorry, Beverly. I didn't mean to leave you a riddle to solve. I assumed you'd recognize the significance immediately."

"Come on, Deanna."

"Let's get these evaluations over with," Deanna said. "It'll all make sense shortly. Why don't we start with the captain's?"

-P/C-

"Twenty-three weeks?" Beverly said, incredulous. She paced in front of Picard's ready room desk. "You had no idea you'd amassed close to two hundred days of personal leave?"

"Don't exaggerate, it's only one hundred sixty-one," Picard replied.

She stopped mid-pace. "Captain, it's still over _five months_! To accumulate that number, you can't have taken time off in—" she paused to check the date in his file.

"None of your concern," Picard said.

Beverly set her PADD down and rested her hands on his desk. She leaned across and pinned him with her stare. "It's not healthy. Medical research shows—"

Picard rapped his knuckles against the edge of the desk. "Medical research shows captains who are pestered to take unnecessary leave by their CMOs tend to be more irritable than those left in peace." He shifted to face his computer terminal. "Thank you, Doctor. Your concern is duly noted."

"Noted and ignored!" she replied, coming around his desk and placing her hip between him and the screen.

Picard leaned back in his chair and exhaled. "Doctor, I do not appreciate having my personal life discussed and dissected by others. If I felt the need to take time off, I assure you, I most certainly would."

"Liar," Beverly said, crossing her arms.

Picard glared up at her. "Doctor, you're coming perilously close to insubordination."

"My apologies, Captain," Beverly said. "I was not aware that expressing my professional, _medical_ concerns regarding a member of the crew was beyond the boundary of my duties as CMO of this vessel."

"That's not what I meant," Picard said and ran a hand across his head.

"What _did_ you mean?" she asked. "I'd hate to say the wrong thing again and wind up in the brig."

Picard's lips twitched. "I apologize, Doctor. The last thing I want is for you to feel you need to guard your tongue around me. It's just I'm not accustomed to—"

"To having your officers speak their minds?"

"To such forthright dialogue. Most of my officers—while they _do_ speak their minds—tend to do so with a measure of deference."

Beverly snorted. "Forgive me for not bowing and scraping before the great Captain Picard." She stood and curtsied. "If His Majesty is finished with me, I'll take my leave..."

"Stop that!" he shouted. "Damn it, I _want_ you to be frank with me. You're the first officer in years to treat me like colleague rather than a walking legend, and—"

"And it makes you very angry."

"Yes," Picard said. "No."

"Which is it?"

Picard sighed. "I am angry, yes. But not at you." He stood and moved around his desk, stopping less than a pace away from her. "I'm frustrated with myself for not accepting it for the blessing it is. You," he paused, "your borderline impertinence makes me feel almost human."

"Aren't you?" she asked, a whisper of a smile on her lips.

"That would appear to be a matter for debate among the crew," he replied.

"Well, I for one firmly believe you are human. Very human," Beverly said letting her gaze travel up and down his uniform, causing Picard to blush and clear his throat. "However, I have access to the medical records proving it." She grinned. "I can see where others may have cause to question your humanity though."

"What do you recommend?"

"Other than not acting like a pompous ass?"

"Doctor..."

She arched an eyebrow. "Yes, Your Majesty?"

Picard inhaled and held the breath for a count of five before exhaling. Beverly expected a justified tongue-lashing for her insubordination, and was surprised when he broke into a grin and chuckled.

"All right then," he said. "The king would like to be seen as more approachable by his subjects. What course of action would you suggest?"

Beverly cupped her chin in her hand and slowly circled the captain. He accepted her scrutiny with a mock gravitas that forced her to bite her lip to keep her own laughter at bay.

"Well, Captain, I think you should make an effort to get to know your crew on a more informal basis."

Picard nodded. "A logical suggestion."

"Perhaps if you took some time off..."

"That subject is closed, Doctor."

"Then in your off-duty hours, Captain," she snapped. "Be seen out and about on your ship. Use some of the amazing facilities Starfleet installed for recreational purposes. Take up a hobby or two. Go on a date."

Picard frowned and Beverly fought the urge to hug him; he seemed genuinely overwhelmed at the thought of getting out and connecting with the rest of the people on his ship. When had he turned from the jocular rogue Jack had adored to this?

"On second thought, Doctor, I don't—"

"I'll make it easy on you, Captain," Beverly said before he could retreat further. "You can pick me up at eighteen hundred hours and take me to dinner in Ten Forward."

Picard opened his mouth to reply then closed it with a soft pop.

"See? You've already accomplished at least one of my recommendations."

She turned and headed for the door.

"Doctor?" he called before she could step through and onto the bridge.

"Yes?"

"Ah, I was wondering," he paused to clear his throat, "precisely which of your 'recommendations' this dinner covers."

Beverly smiled. "That, my dear Captain, is entirely up to you."


	3. Chapter 3

Beverly paced her quarters as the minutes crawled toward eighteen hundred hours. She'd sent Wes off to spend the evening with his school friends so she wouldn't have to hide her anxiousness; and certainly not because she was afraid of having to explain why the captain was picking her up for a date.

She picked her lab coat off the back of a dining area chair and tossed it onto the back of the sofa, and wondered if Picard would consider their meal a date. She didn't like the idea of being a hobby.

The door chimed and she turned, ready with her wardrobe excuse. If the captain showed up in uniform, she'd stay in hers. If he arrived in civilian attire, she'd beg a few minutes to change by hinting she'd been kept late in sickbay.

"Come," she said.

The doors whooshed open and Beverly smiled. Jean-Luc Picard stepped into her quarters and offered a weak smile in return. His reluctance to appear socially among his crew was palpable and she wasn't surprised he was still in uniform.

"Doctor," he said.

"Captain."

He took a shaky breath. "Shall we?"

"It's dinner, not an execution, Jean-Luc," Beverly said, stepping into the corridor.

"My apologies, Doc— Beverly," he said. "It's just..."

She laughed. "It gets easier, trust me."

He looked at her askance as they headed toward the nearest turbolift.

She shook her head.

"Believe it or not, but I remember a Jean-Luc Picard who would enter a room and take it as a personal challenge to charm every single person there." Beverly's eyes glittered in amusement. "Especially the young ladies. You were always so very attentive of them."

Picard cleared his throat. "Yes, well, time passes... we change..."

"Some of us more than others," Beverly replied.

He let his gaze travel from her face to her boots and back. "And some seem to hold time prisoner, never aging at all."

Beverly stepped into the lift and waited for Picard to state their destination before replying, "See? You _do_ remember how to be charming!"

He grinned. "I think that has more to do with the present company than any social skills you believe I may or may not possess."

The doors opened and Picard gestured for her to precede him into the corridor. They walked in silence toward the etched glass doors of Ten Forward. Picard was masking his unease extremely well. Aside from a tightness around his eyes—and the set of his shoulders—he appeared relaxed and happy to be out and among his crew.

He led the way to an empty table near the viewports. Conversation stilled as they passed other, occupied tables, but Picard pretended not to notice. He nodded to each person in greeting and even stopped twice to ask a crewmember about his or her posting.

Beverly was impressed, but kept the thought to herself as they placed their orders. When the server left, she asked, "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I feel like I'm under a microscope."

Beverly closed her eyes and inhaled as the server returned and placed a steaming bowl of stew in front of her. "At least you're being fed real food. Most of my specimens only get agar."

Picard took a bite of his grilled salmon and peered at her bowl. "Indeed."

She gestured at her meal. "My nana's recipe."

"It looks amazing."

"Would you like a taste?" Beverly asked. She scooped out a spoonful and held it toward Picard. She tried not to wince as he hesitated. The words and action had come without thinking, and the underlying intimacy of the gesture obviously made the captain uncomfortable.

She started to turn the spoon sideways, as if offering him the handle to take—still too personal, but better than a public spoon-feeding by his CMO—but he reached out and wrapped his hand around hers before she'd moved the utensil more than an inch.

Picard brought the spoon—and her hand—to his lips as he tasted the stew. He chewed slowly, savouring the bite. "Delectable," he said, running his fingers over the side of her thumb before releasing her hand.

"It's an old family recipe," she replied. Beverly tried to calm her jittery pulse by taking another bite. "I can add the program to your replicator files," she said, swallowing, "if you'd like."

"I would like that very much," he said. He gestured at his plate with his fork. "This salmon is a poor substitute for your nana's fabulous stew."

Beverly studied the captain and weighed her options. Picard dutifully nibbled at his dish, but his gaze kept returning to her bowl. She'd erred when she'd offered him a bite from her spoon; how would he react if she offered to share the bowl with him?

The decision was taken from her by the noisy arrival of a large group of teens. They jockeyed through the doors, laughing and generally being silly.

"What the—?" Picard said, turning his head toward the disturbance.

They swung past the bar, calling out their food and drink orders, before descending on one of the larger tables near the center of the room. Beverly held her breath as she scanned the group, but Wes's distinctive orange sweater was nowhere to be seen.

She told herself she had nothing to hide, but the release of tension across her shoulders at her son's absence belied her words. She wanted her relationship with the captain to progress further than a single date—if that _was_ what this was—before initiating the potentially awkward, "Mommy has a special friend," conversation with her fourteen-year-old son.

The captain turned back to regard Beverly. He tried to hide his scowl, and it made her laugh.

"What?" he asked.

"You really don't like children."

"I don't dislike them," he said, keeping his expression neutral, "I just don't..."

"Like them?"

Picard cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I am growing," he said, "_accustomed_ to the b—your son being on my bridge." He smiled. "He is going to make a very capable officer when he's older."

"He's got excellent role models," Beverly said.

_But horrific timing_, she thought as Wes entered Ten Forward and joined his friends. She shifted so Picard's body blocked most of her from Wes's direct line of view, and hoped the captain wouldn't wonder at her sudden desire to sit at the corner of their table.

"Doctor?"

"Mmm, this stew is so wonderful," she said, quickly stuffing a spoonful in her mouth. "Would you like some more?"

Beverly set her spoon down and pushed her bowl toward the captain. She risked a glance over his head as he leaned over the dish. One of Wes's friends—she thought his name was Jordan—elbowed him in the side and pointed toward her table. She read the words, "Mom" and "Captain" on the teen's lips before Wes's head whipped around and they made eye contact.

"Are you certain you don't want any more?" Picard asked.

Beverly's gaze flickered from her now-approaching son to Picard and back again. "No," she said, "I seem to have lost my appetite."

"Hi, Captain Picard!" Wes said as he bounded to a halt next to the table. "I haven't seen you in Ten Forward before. Well, not unless there was an official gathering or something."

"Wesley," Picard practically choked around a mouthful of stew. He reached for his glass of water. "Yes, well, your mother and I—"

Wes rose up on the balls of his feet and grinned at the pair. "My friends and I were just on the holodeck, sir. Did you know it can simulate zero gravity? We programmed a model neutrino—"

"Wes," Beverly interrupted, gently.

"—and when we set off the inverse tachyon pulse the whole thing completely—"

"Wes," she said, more firmly.

"Mom..."

She shook her head. "I'm sure the captain would be very interested in hearing your account of the experiment _when you report for duty tomorrow_," she said, holding his gaze and gesturing at the food on the table, hoping he'd take the hint.

"Uh," he said, "oh, right." He turned to Picard. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to interrupt your meal."

"Not at all, Wesley," the captain said. "Your holodeck experiment sounds very intriguing. Your mother is right; I would like to hear more."

"Really?"

Picard nodded. "In fact, I was just telling your mother about the growth and development I've noticed during your recent duty shifts. You—"

Wes grinned. "You were talking about me? Like a crew evaluation?"

"You could say that," Beverly said, sharing a look with Picard who dutifully hid his confusion and nodded.

Wes bounced on his heels. "That's a relief. The guys at the table insisted you two were on a date."

"A date?" Beverly repeated, weakly. Her face suddenly felt like it was on fire, and the captain didn't look like he was any more comfortable.

"Not that I don't think you should date, Mom," Wes quickly added. "It's just, well..." He glanced at Picard before continuing, "It's been a long time, and you're always so shy around men you don't know..."

Beverly groaned.

"And maybe you should consider starting with someone," Wes leaned in and whispered in her ear, "who doesn't, you know, _scare _everyone."

Beverly bit her lip to stifle her laughter. Her eyes watered as she said, "Thank you, Wes. I'll keep that in mind."

He smiled at his mom then stood to attention and nodded to Picard. "Captain."

"Mr. Crusher," Picard said, nodding in return.

Wes bounded down the risers and returned to his friends. They laughed and slapped him on the back, but he kept shaking his head – disagreeing with whatever it was they were saying.

Picard pushed the bowl of stew off to the side and placed his napkin on the table. He arched an eyebrow and said, "Now, why do I get the impression I've been examined and found lacking?"

"He worships you. I doubt there's anything he thinks you can't do."

"Then—?"

Beverly laughed. "He's worried about my lack of experience." The captain's eyebrows shot into his non-existent hairline. "He thinks I should ease my way back into the dating scene, and start with someone," she paused and searched for a better phrase than Wes had used, "a little less intimidating."

"I see," he said. "And do you concur?"

Beverly leaned on her elbows and grinned. "Absolutely not."

"He is a bright boy—"

"He's fourteen!" Beverly said. "I am not going to take dating advice from a child."

Picard grinned. "I'll be frank; I don't think it was one of the more astute suggestions he's made."

"And why is that?" Beverly asked.

"Because I don't believe you find me the slightest bit intimidating," he said, pretending to scowl.

Beverly laughed and raised her glass. "To one of the most _unintimidating_ men I know."

Picard raised his, adding, "And to one of the most intriguing women I know."


	4. Chapter 4

Beverly sipped her coffee as she read through the latest reports from Starfleet Medical. She furrowed her brow as she scanned a memo from Admiral O'Chesney. Something about his request for data didn't feel right. He wasn't asking for anything classified, nor was it beyond his purview, but Beverly couldn't shake the suspicion that all was not as it seemed.

She'd considered taking her concerns to the captain, except she couldn't articulate just what was making her uncomfortable.

The thought of Jean-Luc brought a smile to her lips. Their evening hadn't progressed past the meal in Ten Forward, yet she felt it had been a success; both in terms of getting the captain to loosen up around his crew, and in moving their relationship toward a more intimate stage.

At first she'd wondered about being called "intriguing." It was, after all, the same word Picard had used to describe Wes's holodeck science experiment. She'd thought the possibility of being a hobby was bad enough, but the idea of being the captain's science experiment was downright insulting.

She'd expected the captain to retreat once the gossip mill started, but she'd arrived on duty to find a request to join him for lunch – in his quarters, no less. Either he hadn't heard the gossip, or he was choosing to ignore it. Unlike Wes.

She sighed.

They hadn't had the "special friend" talk, but it'd come close.

"Are you attracted to the captain?" Wes had blurted during an otherwise silent breakfast.

Beverly paused with the croissant half way to her lips. She took a careful breath before replying, "Many women find him attractive. He is an attractive man."

She'd hoped that would be the end of the discussion, but Wes wouldn't be put off. "No," he said, shaking his head, "I mean, are you interested in seeing him, you know, like dating?" He set his toast down and leaned forward, his expression earnest.

"Is this because of last night?" she asked.

Wes fiddled with his juice glass and refused to meet her gaze.

"Wes?"

He sighed. "People are saying... Because you knew Captain Picard from before... Well, they're curious... It's not like he shows up in Ten Forward very often, is it?"

"The captain and I are friends, Wes," she replied. She gave her son a soft smile. "I think being a starship captain is a very lonely thing. Ultimately, he is everyone's superior officer. Everyone else on the ship has peers to socialize with; the captain doesn't. That has to be quite isolating."

Wes nodded and Beverly sipped her coffee. She'd relaxed, thinking she'd dodged the worst of it, but Wes kept going.

"You have the power to relieve him of command," he'd said. "That sort of makes you his equal. Is that why you're friends?"

Beverly laughed. "I can't remove him without just cause, Wes. So, it doesn't quite put us on equal footing." She paused. "It probably has more to do with the fact I knew him before he became so... isolated. I remember a different man and, because of our shared past, I'm not intimidated by his manner or reputation."

"What do you mean?" Wes asked, alarmed. He looked like he expected her to tell him he was Picard's secret love child or something equally ludicrous. "What past?"

"I mean," she said, grinning, "it's extremely hard to be intimidated by a man you've seen wearing a dress and singing Klingon love ballads on the steps of Medical."

Wes blinked.

Beverly hid her smile behind a bite of croissant.

"The captain," Wes began, "in a dress?"

She nodded.

"Singing?"

"Reasonably well, I might add."

Wes shook his head. His voice cracked as he asked, "Why?"

"It was your father's idea. He convinced some of his friends to participate in a totally outrageous stunt that was supposed to prove he was serious about dating me," she said, smiling at the memory. "I'd just gotten off sixteen hours of internship rounds, and wanted to go home and crawl into bed, but your dad ambushed me on the stairs.

"Captain Picard—he wasn't a captain back then—and three others dressed up as women and attempted to woo your dad while he resisted their charms and professed his love to me," she said.

Wes flushed.

"I still don't know how your dad managed to convince them to go along with the act but," Beverly paused and shook her head, "it was certainly a sight worth seeing."

Wes looked pained.

"What?" she asked.

He winced. "That's not going to work."

"What's not going to work?"

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I can't tell people you're spending time with the captain because you've seen him in a dress! He'd get Lieutenant Yar to shoot me out an airlock."

"Why do you have to tell people anything?"

"Because they're saying you're sl—dating the captain!"

Beverly sat back. She hadn't expected Wes to find the notion so disturbing. "I see."

"You don't understand," he said. "People already bug me because they think I'm getting special treatment, and now they're saying the only reason I get to serve on the bridge is because you—"

He blushed furiously and left the table.

"Wes, I—"

"I have to get to school," he said. "I have to finish my astro-physics project."

Wes had darted out the doors before she could say another word.

Beverly set the PADD of memos down and sighed. She hadn't considered how Picard's generous offer to let her son gain some bridge experience would impact his social standing on the ship. He'd always been awkward at the best of times and, while the opportunity was precisely what his super-processor brain needed, she should have seen the potential fallout and done more to protect him.

She checked the chronometer and stretched. If she did a quick inspection of her staff, she'd be finished in time to meet the captain for lunch. She should bring Wes's situation to the captain's attention but, given how effectively Wes had dampened their dinner conversation, she decided lunch was not the time to bring it up.

-P/C-

Beverly rang the chime and the doors to the captain's quarters opened with a whoosh. She stepped through and smiled as Jean-Luc strode forward and gestured for her to take a seat at his table.

"Doctor," he said, "thank you for coming."

"My pleasure," she said.

"I hope you like Andorian noodles," he said as he spooned a heaping portion onto her plate.

Beverly leaned back in her chair and studied the man across from her. He smiled as he told her about the socio-political history behind the noodle dish, and she grinned at his enthusiasm. Jack's sub-space messages from the _Stargazer_ had been full of asides about the 'crazy' things Picard kept telling him.

She wasn't much of a history buff either, but she had to admit she enjoyed listening to the rich timbre of Jean-Luc's voice. He could recite the entire Starfleet Administrative Directory and she'd find the time enjoyable.

"This is lovely," she said, taking a bite of the spicy pasta.

"I wanted to thank you," he said.

Beverly arched her eyebrow. "Thank me?"

"Yes." Picard wiped his lips on his napkin and gave her a self-deprecating smile. "For last night. Despite my initial reluctance, I found I enjoyed myself."

Beverly grinned. "I told you so."

"Indeed."

"Perhaps next time your CMO makes a suggestion you'll comply without a fuss, as she seems to know what she's talking about," Beverly teased.

"I don't know about that, Doctor," he replied.

"Oh?" Beverly said. "And why not?"

Jean-Luc smiled and Beverly's stomach went into a free fall. "I find your enthusiasm for your causes to be quite," he paused, "exhilarating. Tiring, but thoroughly amazing to behold."

"I have been told my _passion_," she paused and grinned mischievously, "leaves most men exhausted, yes."

Picard flushed.

"Speaking of last night, Captain," she said, "I don't want you thinking it was a one-off. Your CMO fully expects you to go out among your crew on a regular basis."

Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow. "Would my CMO approve of my keeping the same company for such outings?"

Beverly considered her words carefully. She wanted nothing more than to lean across the table, say, "Yes," and pull him into a passionate embrace, but she had Wesley to consider. "While your CMO heartily endorses your desire to form a closer bond with a particular member of the crew, she also believes you need to cultivate a healthy social network by working to establish connections with others."

"I see," he said.

The sparkle in his eyes disappeared and Beverly realized he'd misinterpreted her comment.

"I don't think you do," she said, taking a deep breath. She really didn't want to broach the subject so soon, but if she left with him thinking she wasn't interested, she suspected both his social outings and her bedroom fantasies would wither into nothing. "Jean-Luc, there's something I've been meaning to tell you..."

He made a show of tidying the dishes on the table in order to avoid making extended eye contact. Beverly rolled her eyes and grabbed his hand. His gaze whipped up to hers as he froze.

"Now that I have your full attention, I want you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say," she said. "I find you very attractive." The disappointment in his eyes vanished, replaced with surprise. "And yes, if the opportunity presented itself, I would enjoy pursuing a _closer_ relationship with you."

His brows furrowed.

"But it's not that simple," she added.

"No," he said, "our pasts are—"

She shook her head. "No, Jean-Luc, I'm not talking about Jack, or about a time when this attraction was not appropriate. I'm talking about," she paused and sighed, "Wesley."

"The bo—" he started to say, then noticed annoyance flicker across her features. "Your son?"

"Yes, Wesley," she said. "My son."

Jean-Luc cleared his throat and tugged on the collar of his uniform.

"Don't worry, I am not about to tell you he and I are a package deal; that if you want to get closer to me you have to get to know him better, too."

Picard's shoulders sagged in relief.

"Although, it wouldn't hurt either of you," she added. She squeezed the hand she was still holding. "The reason I suggested you be seen with others is there are some," she paused, "rumours spreading throughout the ship—concerning you and me—that are causing strife between Wes and his school friends."

Jean-Luc scowled. "He should know better than to believe them."

"He does," she said, "but you have to remember, he's fourteen. There's only so much teasing he can take before it becomes hurtful."

Jean-Luc sighed and pulled his hand from hers. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head. "If I had the answer, I would have fixed the problem myself." She knitted her hands together and added, "What I do know is I can't see you, _socially_, if it's going to negatively impact my son's life."


	5. Chapter 5

Beverly shook her head as she tapped her communicator to end the conversation. This was the fifth night in a row Wes had called to say he wouldn't be home for dinner. If she had any other woman's son, she'd think he was seeing a girl on the sly, but she knew without a doubt his story about working on an extra duty assignment was the truth.

Will Riker had given Wes a project and—typical Wes—he'd dived in with both feet and his brain going at light speed. Neither Will nor Wes would tell her the precise nature of the task, but she did manage to worm out the detail that Data was Wes's primary supervisor.

She wondered if it had something to do with the zero-gravity neutrino experiment he'd been all excited about two weeks earlier.

"_Picard to Crusher_."

She carried her coffee over to the sofa and curled up against the cushions. "Crusher here. Go ahead, Captain."

"_I was wondering if you had a moment_."

Thanks to Will Riker and his mysterious duty project she had all night.

Not that it mattered.

The rumour mill was in full-swing. Two of her nurses had come into sickbay this morning, whispering about how the previous evening was the third time the captain had been seen socializing with the same female member of his crew.

"Of course, Captain. What can I do for you?"

Jealousy twinged in her gut. The CMO part of her was pleased to see him loosening up and following her advice. The single woman looking for a romantic liaison was not quite as thrilled.

"_Can you meet me in my quarters? It won't take long_," he said. "_I need some, personal, er, advice_."

Beverly stifled a sigh and set down her cup. "This isn't a medical concern, is it?"

"_No_."

"All right, Captain. I'll be there shortly. Crusher out."

She tidied her dinner dishes and checked her hair before exiting her quarters. She had to admit she was curious. Jean-Luc didn't strike her as someone who sought personal advice from others. And while he was doing well at being social, she knew she was still the closest thing he had to a friend on board the ship.

She rounded the corner and groaned inwardly as a thought occurred. _What if he wants dating advice?_

Suddenly she didn't feel all that curious.

Beverly took a deep breath as the doors to his quarters chimed and he granted her entrance. She pasted a smile on her face and stepped in. She'd buried her attraction to Jean-Luc once before, and she would do it again. _For Wes_.

"Thank you for coming, Doctor," Picard said, gesturing toward the sitting area. "Please, have a seat."

Beverly raised an eyebrow as Jean-Luc poured them both a glass of wine before sitting in the chair opposite her. His fingers brushed hers as she took the stemware, and she masked the jolt of chemistry pulsing through her veins by taking a sip.

"Thank you," she said.

He smiled and her stomach did a somersault. _Damn it!_ He was seeing someone else and she'd made it clear she wouldn't be a party to anything that would make Wes's already awkward teen years worse.

"You like it?" he asked.

She took another sip and truly tasted the wine. It had an excellent bouquet with a subtle smoky oak taste and almost no acidity. "It's excellent. Velvety."

"My brother said it was a good batch." He grinned. "I can't always tell if he's teasing or not. The only way to ascertain for sure is to open a bottle."

"Your brother sends you _bad_ wine?" she asked.

"Sometimes. Whenever he thinks I'm getting 'too big for my britches,' as he says. I learned never to open the first bottle at important social events. Let's just say the ambassador to Liguran Four was very gracious despite having been served a wine that could scour deuterium hydro-plating off dilithium crystals."

Beverly laughed.

"I am relieved these bottles are not in that category."

"As am I," Beverly replied then took another sip.

She hid a frown and shoved aside the possibility he'd invited her over to be his wine-tasting guinea pig. After all, he wouldn't want to serve battery acid to someone he was trying to impress.

"So," she said, "what can I do for you?"

Picard held her gaze, but the play of his fingers over the stem of his glass gave away his underlying nervousness. "I was hoping you could offer me some advice."

"Oh?"

"Yes." He cleared his throat. "As you know, I have recently discovered a mutual attraction," he said, smiling at her, "and while this poses innumerable concerns for both of us, I believe I have found a solution to the most significant barrier to our pursuing a more intimate relationship."

"I see."

"And," he blushed, "now I find myself at a loss as to how to next proceed."

Beverly set down her glass, her stomach roiling. She steeled her features into the neutral expression she used when faced with a particularly horrifying surgery.

_Oh God_, she thought, _he wants me to give him tips on how to seduce Tasha Yar_.


	6. Chapter 6

Beverly wandered from biobed to biobed, running tests on the accuracy of the scanners. She triggered the pseudo-patient program and waited for the data to stream into her tricorder. Numbers scrolled up the glowing screen, but she took no notice; she couldn't stop replaying the previous evening's conversation with the captain in her mind.

She'd done her best to avoid learning anything specific about the situation, preferring to pretend it was a hypothetical discussion, or at worst, a conversation about a woman she didn't know.

Still, images of Tasha wrapped in his arms lurked in the corners of her mind and gave her liver palpitations.

_He's old enough to be her father,_ she fumed. _Grandfather, by some cultural standards!_

Beverly clenched her jaw. She'd been a model friend, listening to him awkwardly explain how he'd worked out a solution—to how he was going to explain dating a woman more than three decades his junior, she assumed—then gave him the one piece of advice she hoped would end the conversation.

She told him not to do anything until he was certain his solution was effective. She knew her response was partly motivated by petty jealousy but, she rationalized, it was also a logical recommendation. It was in both his and Tasha's best interests to ensure the problem really was solved before they moved forward.

She wanted him to have a chance at happiness, even if it wasn't with her.

Beverly sighed and retrieved the latest data before heading for her office. She was in no mood to socialize with her staff, and analyzing the readouts gave her the perfect excuse to hide behind her desk for at least an hour.

She switched on her computer and checked her messages. Beverly's scowl deepened. There was yet another communiqué from Admiral O'Chesney – asking for more information on the crew, and her patients specifically.

"What is that man _doing_ with all this information?" she muttered. Ghostly fingers tickled up her spine as she pondered the request. Again, he wasn't asking for anything beyond his purview as head of Medical, but—and this was the part that annoyed her—he gave no reason for requesting the data, nor could she make sense of the seemingly random series of requests.

She closed the message and sat back, knee pulled to her chin. As a clinician, she fully supported the use of the scientific method when tackling a problem. However, she'd also come to trust her instincts—not only in life, but in medical scenarios too—and her gut was telling her Admiral O'Chesney's actions were highly suspect.

She sighed.

It was time to go to the captain.

Her upper lip twitched and she gripped the PADD a little too firmly as she transferred all of the admiral's messages, and her data-laden replies to the device. She gave herself a mental shrug as she left her office. Beverly figured the captain deserved to listen to her rant about her ephemeral suspicions. She'd sat and smiled through hell with him – he owed her (even if he wasn't aware of the debt).

The doors to the turbolift opened and she nearly crashed into her son.

"Wes!" she said, readjusting her grip on the PADD.

"Mom?" he said. "Mom! Did you hear? Did you read the memo?"

Beverly shook her head.

"Commander Riker announced the schedule for the Acting Junior Helmsman testing!" Wes said, bouncing on his heels and grinning like he'd won first prize in a physics contest.

"The 'Acting Junior Helmsman' test?"

Wes rolled his eyes. "It's a simulation that determines the suitability of underage and non-Starfleet personnel for short duty shifts on the bridge. It's kind of like the bridge officer's test you took before leaving Medical, only not quite as intense."

"Aren't you already an acting junior helmsman?" she asked.

"And now all my friends can try out," he said. We paused then squared his shoulders. "Lt. Commander Data used me as a baseline for the test. He and Commander Riker said I have some unique skills and abilities they want make sure every other successful candidate possesses too."

"Is this what you've been working on for the past week?"

Wes grinned. "Pretty awesome, huh."

Beverly smiled. "I'm glad you had an opportunity to work on something that excites you. It seems Commander Riker is keeping his promise to mentor you, to help you reach your potential."

Wes glanced over her shoulder. "Uh, yeah, Mom, thanks," he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot, uncomfortable with her public display of 'Momness.' "I need to find Jordan and find out when he's taking the test. I want to see his face when he comes out!"

"Wes—"

"Later, Mom. Don't worry about dinner for me. I'll eat with the guys," Wes called as he slipped past her and practically ran down the corridor.

Beverly shook her head as she entered the turbolift and ordered it to take her to the bridge.

-P/C-

"I'll admit I fail to see the logic or need behind these requests," Picard said, "but the admiral hasn't violated any regulations either."

"That's just it," Beverly replied. "I know it's all technically above board, but—"

"But something doesn't feel right," he said, finishing her thought. He gave her a soft smile. "There's nothing I can do in an official capacity, but if you'll consent to let me share these messages with Mr. Data, I'll have him search for a pattern or connection we may have missed."

Beverly was pleasantly stunned. "You'd do that?"

She'd brought her puzzle to Picard, hoping he'd prove a useful sounding board - or at least a sympathetic ear. She hadn't expected him to pull active duty hours from one of his bridge crew in order to have that officer search for the solution to her mystery.

Picard shifted forward and rested his weight on his elbows. "If there's one thing I've learned in my years in command, it's to trust my officers' instincts. If you think something's not right about O'Chesney's requests then we're going to investigate."

"Thank you, sir," Beverly said. She studied the man sitting across from her. He met her gaze with a tiny smile that sent shivers down her spine. He didn't smile this way at other crewmembers – she was sure of it.

"My pleasure." He leaned back and pressed his palms against the desktop as he stood. "Was there anything else, Doctor?"

Beverly rose from her seat and pressed a hand against the butterflies in her stomach.

"No, sir," she said, swallowing.

"Excellent," he said, stepping closer and placing a hand in the small of her back as he guided her to the doors.

Picard's scent filled her nostrils and his fingers burned like brands through the weave of her lab coat. She took a steadying breath, and reminded herself he was off-limits.

"I'll let you know if Mr. Data finds anything," he said, his voice close to her right ear.

"Thank you."

"Oh, and, Doctor?" he said, stopping just out of sensor range.

"Yes, sir?" she said, not daring to turn to face him.

"I trust you'll inform me the moment the situation with Wesley and his school friends resolves itself."

She gasped and spun around. Jean-Luc smiled and raised an eyebrow. "You didn't think I'd given up, did you?" he asked.

She shook her head. That was precisely what she'd thought.

"Good," he said, stepping in close enough for Beverly to feel his breath on her lips. "I know you wanted me to increase my 'social network,' but I am growing tired of spending my evenings with crewmembers who, frankly, aren't you."

-P/C-

Beverly set her PADD down and stared at the doors to her quarters, willing Wes to come home. She knew he wouldn't violate his curfew, but she hoped he'd arrive even a little bit early so she could question him on the situation with his friends.

The doors opened and she was glad she'd resisted the urge to contact him via communicator.

"Mom?" Wes said, stopping on his way to his room. "You weren't waiting up for me, were you?"

Beverly smiled. "Wes, there's something I want to ask you."

He took a tentative step toward the sitting area. "Uh, okay."

"Relax," she said, "you're not in trouble. I was just wondering how things are going with—"

Beverly's words were drowned out as a massive explosion rocked the ship. The red alert klaxon wailed as a second blast sent Wes tumbling into a nearby chair and nearly knocked Beverly off the sofa.

"What the—?" Wes swore as he pulled himself up with the armrest.

Beverly was already on her feet and slipping her arms into her lab coat. "I don't know, but you stay here," she said. "Stay safe!"

She flew down the corridor and into the nearest turbolift. As selfish as it was, she was glad to be 'essential medical personnel' and authorised to use the lifts during emergencies – unlike the civilians and most other crew who had to use the Jeffries tubes if they wanted to move about the ship for non-essential reasons. She hated those vertical tunnels.

"Crusher to sickbay," she said as the doors closed behind her.

"_Reports are just coming in, sir_," came the disembodied voice of her second in command. "_Decks nineteen through fifteen have sustained heavy damage_."

"Casualties?"

"_Unconfirmed_, _but expected_."

"Send two teams to the affected decks and get the ORs prepped for arrivals," Beverly ordered as she strode from the turbolift and toward sickbay. "I want us running at maximum capacity in less than five minutes."

"_Aye, sir_."

Beverly arrived in the main area of sickbay less than a minute before the first casualties began to stream in. The ship rocked several more times, but Beverly was too consumed with putting life back into mangled bodies to wonder what was happening on the bridge.


	7. Chapter 7

She doffed her scrubs and stumbled out of the OR after finishing her third nano-surgery; this one a six-hour marathon to repair plasma fire damage to an engineer's torso. The barrage had stopped sometime during her first surgery, and the ship was still in one piece, so she assumed the worst was over.

"Crusher to Wesley Crusher," she said, tapping her communicator.

"_Crusher here. Hey, Mom_."

"Wesley," she said with a sigh. "Are you all right?"

"_I'm fine_." Beverly could practically hear the eye roll. She realized—belatedly, due to her own exhaustion—the crisis had likely ended hours earlier for him.

"All right then," she replied. "I'm glad you're safe. I just need to log my last surgery and then I'll be home."

There was a pause then Wes said, "_I'm glad you're safe, too, Mom_."

She smiled.

"_Oh_," he added, "_how's Captain Picard?_"

"Captain Picard?"

"_I know I'm not supposed to access them, but I followed the tactical feed from the bridge during the attack and the captain was listed as injured during an attempt to commandeer the bridge_."

"Uh, I don't know, Wes," she replied. A fresh jolt of adrenaline burned away some of her exhaustion. No one had come to tell her the captain was in sickbay, so his injuries likely weren't life threatening. "I'm sure he's going to be fine. I'll check on him on my way out, okay?"

"_Thanks, Mom. Crusher out_."

Beverly slipped behind her desk and logged her last surgery. As soon as she finished, she scrolled through the other logs and found Picard's latest patient entry. He'd come in after the battle with a fractured forearm—apparently from tackling and subduing one of the aliens—and received appropriate bone regeneration. He was discharged more than three hours earlier, with instructions to report back in twenty-four hours for a clearance check.

"Computer, location of Captain Picard."

The familiar chirp was immediately followed by, "_Captain Picard is in his quarters_."

Beverly debated the next question; it was late, she was tired. But, she'd promised Wes… "Is he awake?"

"_Affirmative_."

"All right then," she muttered as she slipped her tricorder into her pocket. "Let's go check on the captain before we crawl into bed and sleep for a week."

She had no trouble getting to his quarters; all turbolifts and corridors were functioning properly. She rang the chime and was surprised when he didn't call for her to enter.

Beverly took a step back as the doors whooshed open.

Picard scowled then blinked. "Doctor?"

"I'm sorry," she said, blushing. The captain wore a thigh-length robe loosely tied about his waist, and his bare chest was clearly visible between the folds. "I didn't mean to intrude. I read the report of your injury and thought I would stop by to see how you were."

He stepped back and gestured for her to enter. "Please, come in."

Beverly smiled shyly as she passed him and moved toward the seating area.

"Can I get you something? A drink perhaps?" he asked.

She shook her head. "This won't take long. I don't want to impose."

Jean-Luc crossed over to the sofa and sat. He smiled. "Your presence in my quarters will never be an imposition, I assure you."

"You say that now," Beverly replied, sitting next to him and taking out her tricorder. "But just you wait. You may live to regret those words."

"Oh, I sincerely doubt that," he said, letting her take his right arm and place it across her lap.

Beverly blushed and decided to change the subject. She kept her eyes on the scanner in her hand as she spoke. "So, can I assume you're behind this new 'Acting Junior Helmsman' thing?"

"Not exactly," he said, clearing his throat. "When it was decided to bring families on board vessels, someone in Command initiated a protocol for determining the fitness of non-Starfleet personnel to man a ship in the event every other officer was unable to step in and do so."

"Really?" she asked, meeting his gaze.

He nodded. "It never went anywhere because it was reasoned that if no Starfleet officers remained, the ship was likely destroyed."

"Lovely."

He gave her a half smile, and her stomach fluttered.

"Yes, well, the notion of creating a simulation to test civilians exists. I suggested that Commander Riker work with our Mr. Crusher to see if they could design a viable scenario that would fit the parameters of the initiative."

Beverly arched her eyebrow. "And now you'll have dozens of teenagers all qualified and clamouring for bridge shifts."

"I don't think so, Doctor," he said.

She leaned back and studied him. He met her gaze and arched an eyebrow in acknowledgement when she realized what they'd done.

"You stacked the deck!" she said. "You had Wes play guinea pig and designed the test so he's the only one who can pass the simulation!"

"I may also have altered some records suggesting he took the test—and passed—close to six months ago—"

"—thereby justifying his presence on the bridge when his friends aren't," she finished.

Picard nodded.

A knot formed in Beverly's throat. "You're brilliant. Devious, but brilliant," she said.

"It may never fully eliminate the insinuation that your son is serving on my bridge because you and I are," he paused, "_intimate_, but I do sincerely hope it helps."

Beverly froze and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Is that what you want, Jean-Luc? Intimacy?"

The tips of Jean-Luc's ears reddened but he didn't look away. He took her hand in his and ran his thumb along the inside of her wrist as he seemed to consider his words.

"I'm afraid I am a vestige of an era when families on ships were seen as an unnecessary risk, not something to be cultivated," he said. He stared out the viewport over her shoulder before continuing, "I believed for years that ship's captains should avoid intimate relationships with their crewmembers, and I convinced myself that not only should I not initiate one, but that I didn't need or desire such relationships."

"I see."

"But now," he said, smiling that soft smile he reserved only for her, "I realize I was wrong to set myself apart."

Beverly swallowed past a new lump in her throat and reached out to caress his face. Jean-Luc closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into her palm.

"I think," she began, "we would both benefit from exploring such a relationship. You're not the only one with a history of keeping colleagues at arm's length."

He took her hand and placed a soft kiss in the center of her palm. "I plan on keeping you a lot closer than that; if you'll let me."

Beverly smiled as she leaned in and brushed her lips against his ear. "Why, my dear Captain," she whispered, "that's precisely what I hope you'll you do."

The End.


End file.
